


Out of the Light

by Cerulean_Phoenix7



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mention of Canonical Character Death, Red Wedding mention, Season 4 missing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerulean_Phoenix7/pseuds/Cerulean_Phoenix7
Summary: Jaime and Brienne have made it to King's Landing after their arduous journey. On their heels follows some unpleasant news. Missing scene from season 4.





	Out of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> With this piece I had the particular challenge of keeping it under 2500 words, which is no small task for me. I chose to write this particular scene because in the show we don't get any kind of reaction from Brienne about the Red Wedding, which I think is a missed opportunity.
> 
> I wrote this for the Oathkeepers fanzine, a collaborative project that brought together several fans of Jaime/Brienne to create a zine of several fanworks. Check out oathkeepersfanzine on tumblr for more info!
> 
> Thank you to my friends Nessotherly, S, and Cadmus for the beta work on this.  


* * *

He found her on the steps descending from the Red Keep into the castle gardens. She was so tall he could have mistaken her for a tree.

Jaime strode up the stone pathway towards her, his leather jerkin hot under the late summer sun. A stray beam of sunlight weaved through the winding tree branches and glinted sharply in his eye. He silently cursed the wayward light.

Brienne had changed from her tattered cloak and trousers into a newly fitted leather jerkin and blue skirts. Her hair had been neatly combed and her face washed of blood from their journey. She almost looked like a highborn lady.

Brienne had now noticed him. He strolled towards her, his pace dangerously approaching a march as he crossed the sunlit courtyard to the foot of the stairs. She did not move down the stairs to meet him. _Of course, she would not_, he thought. She would never grant him such a move. He ascended the steps with as much poise as he could manage. His golden hand swayed with each step of his right foot; its weight was still foreign to him.

Jaime paused only steps from Brienne. The sunlight was as unforgiving to her facial features as it had been to his eyes. The scar on her upper lip appeared ragged and stark, while a quiet shadow caught the crook in her nose. Her expression hinted at a frown, but one had not yet formed on her face. Her brows were unremarkable, save for a few creases of tension drawn tautly between them. Her eyes remained infuriatingly stunning.

“Ser Jaime,” she said with a shallow nod.

Jaime met Brienne’s eyes once more. Even in sunlight the remarkable blue of them was unmistakable.

“My lady,” he added with a bow. Brienne’s brow furrowed, but if the gesture truly insulted her, she made no remark of it.

“Come, walk with me. It’s a lovely day and I would hate to spend it alone. Perhaps you could provide some shade from the sun.”

She did not flinch at his remark. “I would think the trees would provide better cover.”

Jaime raised a brow. “That is true, but what they provide in shade they sadly lack in conversation.” He turned and extended his good arm, opening the stairs for her to proceed. “After you.”

Her eyes flitted to him briefly before she moved down the steps. Her large hands were clasped behind her back, fingers intertwined. It reminded Jaime of a bound man walking through a prison, all that was missing were the ropes.

Brienne’s steps were heavy but measured as she descended the stairs. Mercifully, when she reached the foot of the steps, she took the precise turn that Jaime was intending. Him walking with _the_ Brienne of Tarth was hardly a cause for prying eyes to pay heed, but it was another matter entirely if he was seen leading her somewhere. King’s Landing was filled with a thousand breeds of bird, some of which enjoyed perching upon the shoulder of a lion in order to sing their tune.

Jaime matched his pace with hers, allowing his golden hand to fall to his side. “I see the septa was able to provide you with suitable clothes.”

Brienne’s eyes watched the stones before her, as if they would open like a yawning mouth and swallow her if she glanced away.

Jaime continued. “Being a highborn lady, it is best if you _try_ to look the part.”

“Does it?” Brienne interjected. “I don’t see any lords or ladies seeking my company.”

“_I_ sought you,” Jaime replied swiftly.

Brienne’s expression tensed. “And you’ve still not told me why.”

Jaime paused. The path before them splintered and branched out into multiple paths lined with greenery that stretched higher than the top of Brienne’s head, and each way was filled with a plethora of bright flowers that perfumed the air. Beyond the gardens, the high walls of the Red Keep loomed over them both, like a red wave ready to sweep over them. They had held many a secret throughout the years, but at that moment Jaime sensed they were waiting for him to speak, hungry for whatever morsel of information he could provide them.

“It’s best if we speak privately about it,” he said. His eyes swept the multiple pathways for the best possible way out.

_The bloody keep has enough passages to drive a man mad but can’t fathom a reasonable exit?_

His eyes finally settled on the path to his immediate left. A narrow cobblestone walkway shrouded in tall, bushy trees covered in stringy vines. At its end lay a single wooden door that lead into the keep. He took a few steps down the path and Brienne followed.

“You’re not usually one to follow behind,” Jaime remarked. Though he couldn’t see Brienne’s face, he could imagine the magnificent scowl she would produce. “Is the view better from there or have I bored you already?”

Brienne responded without hesitation. “There’s no sense in leading the way if you don’t know where you’re going.”

Jaime felt his brow perk. “I do happen to know my way through this city. Besides, it wouldn’t do you much good if you got lost. Though…given your stature I’m sure you wouldn’t be difficult to find.”

When they reached the door, Jaime pulled it open. The door creaked like a centuries-old tree. Jaime told Brienne to watch her head as she stepped inside, part in jest and part in sincerity. Within the keep it was safer to move with speed, as Jaime did. He led Brienne down a wide corridor and then down a narrow passageway illuminated by a single torch. Opposite to them was another wooden door dotted with metal studs and hung on dark iron hinges. Jaime opened the door and stepped inside.

At the center of the room was solid wooden pillar covered in shields packed so closely that they resembled dragon scales. A single desk sat to Jaime’s right, coupled with a splintered wooden chair. The desk was large enough to consume most of the wall to his immediate right. The room was completely stone, save for a single pitiful window at the far end of the room that allowed a few slivers of light to peek through.

“This’ll do,” Jaime declared.

Brienne remained in the doorway, a look of sheer bewilderment on her face. “Do? For _what_?”

“A conversation,” Jaime replied, pulling the chair out and into the center of the room. “Sit.”

“No,” she replied sternly.

“You may want to for this.”

Brienne remained wholly composed, her lips in a tight line. “I prefer to stand.”

Jaime shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sat down in the chair. Brienne still had the door open.

“If we’re going to talk would you mind at least closing the door? I’d rather not have half the Red Keep be privy to this conversation.”

Brienne’s brow creased as the muscles in her face tensed. She fixed Jaime with a look. “What on earth are you-”

“Catelyn Stark is dead.”

Brienne’s face fell. The corners of her mouth dipped, and her eyes grew distant. He watched her eyes fall from his face to the ground, leaving the room painfully silent.

It was more than a moment before he spoke again. “Perhaps you should close the door now.”

Brienne turned and pushed the door closed; it barely made a sound as she shut it. She rested her hands on the wrought iron handle, her body still turned away. Jaime thought he heard a muffled sob.

He wanted her to face him, to stand and place his mortal hand on her shoulder and turn her to face him. Though he wanted to do so, he remained seated in the chair, his golden hand resting heavily on his thigh.

Brienne’s left hand dropped to her side before curling into her skirt and clenching the blue fabric. Her right hand remained pressed against the door. She turned halfway, allowing the profile of her face to show. In the dim light he thought he saw a tremble in her lip.

When Brienne spoke, her voice was softer than a feather. “How?”

“The Freys,” Jaime replied. “Lord Walder turned the wedding of Lady Catelyn’s brother, Edmure, into a butchering.” _That my father paid for_, he thought.

The tremble in Brienne’s lip was unmistakable now. “Did she suffer?”

Jaime could hear the squire’s words clear as the singing of swords in his mind: _They slit her throat, from ear to ear they did. Lord Walder said it was like she was smiling. And then he smiled too._

He shook his head softly. “I don’t know.”

Brienne’s brows creased and her frown deepened. There was an instant where she looked as if she might release an ugly sob, but instead she swallowed and the tremble in her lip vanished.

“Thank you for telling me, Ser Jaime,” she said.

She turned away from him again, both of her hands clasping on the iron handle of the door.

Jaime stood. “Is that all?”

Brienne peered over her shoulder, her blue eyes piercing. “Is what all?”

Jaime shrugged. “You’re not going to cry? Or scream? Or unleash your rage upon me? I assure you I could take it if you did.”

Brienne turned from the door and faced him, stepping within a foot of him. “I have no rage for you; my rage is for the Freys, for Stannis Baratheon, and for all the wicked men in the realm who would do harm to innocents.”

Jaime raised a brow. “How reassuring that you do not find me wicked.”

The line of Brienne’s mouth thinned. “I could name a hundred other traits that suit you, Ser, all equally unforgiving.”

“I’m sure we have time for you to list them.”

Brienne huffed. “I will _not_ play these ridiculous games with you!”

Jaime scowled. “My lady, you wound me. If I were to play a game, it most certainly would not be with you.”

“Then if you have nothing else to say, I will leave you,” Brienne replied, and turned for the door.

“Brienne, wait,” Jaime urged, reaching out his golden hand to her. He stopped before he could place the hand on her shoulder. His new hand had been fashioned from gold, the same gold that his father used to ply his many dealings. _They should have given me a hand fashioned in crimson_, he thought.

Brienne studied him for a moment, her eyes cold and stern. Jaime wondered if they would close if he touched her face, or would she bat his hand away with the same swiftness that she met his quips?

“For what? There is nothing else that can be done, certainly not by you. Catelyn Stark is dead, and her daughters are still hostages in this city.”

“Your information seems outdated. Arya Stark has not been seen since her father’s execution. So that leaves you with one less Stark to worry about.”

Brienne’s brows drew together. “What about Sansa?”

“Oh, she’s still very much in the city, though rumor has it she’s been married as of late. To whom, I haven’t yet been told.”

“If she is in the city, then I would speak with her.”

An image of Cersei observing Brienne materialized in his mind; her gaze piercing Brienne like a thousand arrows. Even if Brienne managed to avoid that, she would have to mind the treacherous bushes of thorns that the Tyrells were undoubtedly planting.

“That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

Jaime saw Cersei smiling in his mind, her lips curved into a malicious grin. “Lady Sansa has also just received word of her mother and brother’s untimely demise and requested no visitors.”

The corners of Brienne’s mouth dipped, and her brow creased further. “I’m sure she would make an exception for a sworn sword of Lady Catelyn.”

“_Late_ Lady Catelyn,” Jaime corrected.

Brienne’s brow furrowed at the remark, and Jaime regretted it instantly. He fumbled for words to mend his transgression, finally blurting: “You may not be able to _speak_ to Sansa, but you may be able to see her. Since my own word does not satisfy you, perhaps this will.”

The tension in Brienne’s face eased, erasing the lines that had formed between her brows. “What do you mean?”

“Sansa has been known to venture down to the docks to pray not long after midday. There is a hill where an old observation post once stood that looks directly over the docks.” Jaime shrugged, his golden hand heavy. “We may be able to see her today, if we hurry.”

Brienne stared at him. “_We_? Why would you be coming with me?”

Jaime raised a brow. “You don’t truly expect me to let you wander around this city by yourself, do you?”

“I am perfectly capable of handling myself,” Brienne replied.

“Oh, I know you are,” Jaime said with a smirk. “It’s the rest of King’s Landing that I’m worried about. Will you be able to handle them, or they you?”

Brienne huffed. “I’m sure I’ll discover the answer to that when it arises. In the meantime, Ser Jaime, I bid you good day.”

Brienne pulled the door open, the creak of its hinges ricocheting off the stone walls of the room. She stepped out of the room…and Jaime strolled out behind her.

She fixed him with a puzzled look. “What are you doing?”

Jaime shrugged. “Going with you. I know this city far better than you currently do, and likely ever will. It certainly wouldn’t do you any good if you got lost. Besides, did you really expect me to stay in that musty room?”

Brienne shook her head before setting off down the passageway, and Jaime followed her.

_Fin_


End file.
